


Cold and Calculated

by Galo



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, hartley thinks he knows more about harry potter than len does, len & hartley play chess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galo/pseuds/Galo
Summary: This work is a non-chronological collection of drabbles and whatnot about Len and Hartley's dynamic.They play chess, they argue about pop culture, they somehow manage to tolerate one another.





	1. Drinks are on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard Snart is a fan of playing games with people, especially smart people.

“Why are you always asking me for a rematch?” Hartley laces his fingers together in his lap as he watches his opponent for a tell of some sort, as if this were poker and not chess. (Though, to be fair, the latter requires just as much skill with bluffing if not more.)

“Because, _Hartley_ , few people are willing to humor one of Central City’s ‘most wanted’.” A deft hand swipes up the white queen and nudges it forward in an aggressive move. After making his play, Snart eases back into his chair and lounges in it as if it were a throne.

The way he comes and goes reminds Hartley of a cat and its constant vigilance of its territory.

Beside them, the fireplace crackles and snarls. Hartley notes how Snart leans away from the flames. The warmer the respite, the more bitter the cold feels once its gone.

“I meant, I’ve been waiting for you to figure out why you haven’t been able to beat me.” Rather than go for the obvious bait, Hartley sets his sights upon one of Snart’s knights.

Snart furrows his brow at the decision, only to smirk a second later.

“Please don’t stroke your gigantic ego in front of me,” Snart goads, “You’re smart enough to know what a buzzkill it is.”

A gasp of mock offense leaps out of Hartley’s mouth, tugging at the corners until he’s sporting his own impish grin. “Fine, I’ll tell you what your Achilles’ heel is, Leonard.”

“You don’t get to call me that. Not even my sister calls me that.” Snart’s hand falls upon his thigh where his fingers crimp against the fabric, ever so slightly. That right there, that’s a tell, but Hartley, with his boundless intellect, can’t decipher what it means. “Stick with ‘Len’ or there’ll be problems.”

Hartley almost goes for the ‘fart’ rhyme, emphasis on the word _almost_ (but also emphasis on the word _fart_ ), yet manages to still his tongue.

“You’re not willing to sacrifice your pawns, Snart. You just don’t have it in you to play the long game.”

“Whereas you, with all your lack of attachments, do?” Snart tries to make a point in taking one of Hartley’s pawns, or at least that’s how he interprets it. “At least I’ve a code of honor. What gets _you_ through the day?”

Hartley tips over Snart’s king with his rook and replies rather blandly, “Checkmate.”

There’s the rustle of polyester and nylon as Snart gets up from the chair. Hartley expects that to be the end of their little midnight chat, that Snart has had enough of him and his sass, but the receding footsteps grow loud again. Two glasses settle between them. Amber liquid floods their translucent walls and Hartley wonders briefly if Snart has seen through him.

Determined not to be made, never mind the fact that the ruse is more for his own sake than for Snart’s, Hartley knocks back the shot and grimaces at the sharp burn. Feels like fire trailing down his throat, the sort that Snart would do anything to avoid.

Yet Snart downs his drink all the same and has the gall to smack his lips as he pours round two.

“I’m still asking myself the same question,” Hartley confesses.

“Keep asking. I’m curious what sort of answer you stumble upon.”

Too bad it’s not an invitation to trip into the man’s lap. Hartley sees shadows, he sees glimpses of light flicker against Snart, but he can’t make everything out clearly.

“You two done eyefucking each other yet?” Mick announces his arrival with the munch and crunch of salt & vinegar chips that Hartley _thought_ he had hidden well. Evidently, all the brains in the world weren’t enough to outsmart a _thief_.

Snart fixes Mick with one of his frosty looks. The subtle raise of his shoulders implies a sigh is resting against the bridge of his nose but Snart has too much self-restraint to lose it in front of Hartley. Instead, he offers a practiced, “It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome. Another time, another game?”

“Don’t bother coming back until you can provide me with an actual challenge,” Hartley quips. “And your buddy ol’ pal owes me a dollar-seventy-five.”

“Believe me, Hartley, I always repay my debts.”

And just like that, an inexplicable heat begins to stain Hartley’s veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started watching Legends and I warmed up to Len. And I do think Hartley would make a good Legend. I need to stop walking into rarepair hell.


	2. I See You're Good with Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley has nothing better to do than to bother Len while he's fixing his gear.

“Hey, Snart, I’ve got a big boy question for you. Think you can answer it?”

Len peers up from his workbench. He has a screwdriver pinched between his fingers, because what good is a man who can’t fix his own mistakes?

It’s not like Hartley to goad him without provocation but he can’t say he dislikes this new development. Curiosity pulls at the corners of his mouth as he waits. (The only person who could ever wring a verbal response out of him is dead and no longer his problem).

“Which Hogwarts house would you be sorted into?”

Amusement saddles up alongside curiosity and his smirk widens. Len shifts in his seat and lifts his goggles to the light. One meticulous twist later, he sets the screwdriver down and regards his goggles from every angle as though appraising a diamond.

Hartley doesn’t know that he has read out loud books one through three to Lisa, nor will he ever know. Books four and onward, well, there’s a risk he might get caught, now that he’s on the Pied Piper’s radar. But it’s a risk that requires more assessment and he has other priorities at the moment.

“You’re no fun.” Hartley plucks the screwdriver he’s no longer using out from under him and Len wants very much to applaud but he knows better than to feed an ego as gluttonous as his own.

“Hufflepuff.” He announces it as he stands, as though it were a detail worth significant consideration.

Hartley lets out a cross between a giggle and a snort as he echoes “Hufflepuff” to himself. “No, you’re definitely not a Hufflepuff. I’d say you’re… Ravenclaw. Sound about right?”

Len never argues with Hartley. It isn’t wise to feed that ego, but he’s just as mindful about starving it. “The crow motif suits me, doesn’t it? How about you?”

Mirth shimmers in Hartley’s eyes. “Rory’s not wrong whenever he calls me a snake. I wear my badge with pride.”

“What are you, a boy scout?”

Hartley’s grin darkens and it’s almost enough to make Len flash a bit of tongue against his chapped lips. “They only teach you how to make so many knots.”

Len chooses his words with care, “Rope chaffs.”

“Oh, I know. That’s what I like about it.”

Charged conversations with Hartley aren’t a strange new phenomenon. What  _ is  _ strange, however, is the deliberate, borderline ritualistic act of removing his glasses.

Why, it’s an invitation.

“Unlike you, I have standards.” Len has a bad habit of tossing out his invitations.

Not that that’s enough to deter Hartley. In fact, the man looks like he’s on the prowl; he’s stalking more than he’s walking, motioning towards Len with purpose. “And here I was, thinking we’d at least make it to the foreplay before you got  _ cold feet. _ ”

Len insists, “Puns sound better when I make them.”

That gets a cackle out of Hartley. The old cliche about laughter sounding like music, it’s not true at all; there’s this high-pitched nasal quality to Hartley’s voice that Len would never want at the touch of his fingertips. No, he wants deeper. Coarser.

“Should I bother locking the door?”

“I doubt you’ll last longer than six minutes.” 

“Someone might actually walk in on us this time, you’re into that, aren’t you?”

Len neither confirms nor denies it as he feels the wall behind him and Hartley at his hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be writing for Allenbert week. I can't believe this.

**Author's Note:**

> I started watching Legends, thereby endearing Len to me. Then I read that Hartley would make a great Legend. So, really, it was only a matter of time until I found a rarepair in the Arrowverse.


End file.
